


White Wolf Returning

by Tezzieh



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: F/M, Found Family, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Torc Clans, Torc Madra!Reader, dad!Geralt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-09
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:48:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23560102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tezzieh/pseuds/Tezzieh
Summary: He need no one. But you bring him home.Mix of Book, Game and Show canon, rolling into one blunt of getting high on Geralt of Rivia being amazing in bed. Porn without plot and entirely self serving.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Reader
Kudos: 29





	White Wolf Returning

Screams of terror wake the Witcher from his sleep. He jerks upright in his bed. A blood curdling howl breaks through the darkness of the night. Geralt recognises it at once. He throws the curtains of his small room open. The full moon gazes down on me from her dark sky. “Thought so.” The Witcher mutters to himself.   
He dresses, putting on his leather armour and strapping on his silver sword. He ties his hair back with a leather string. No time for sleep now. 

He opens the window of his room. He jumps out, onto the roof of the neighbouring bakery. He rushes towards the screams, the moon gazing down on him, bathing him in her silvery light.

The Vukodlak is only three streets away, slaughtering in blind rage. Geralt falls down upon the huge beast, from atop a tiled roof. With a smooth motion he drives his silver sword through the werewolf’s skull. The monster dies instantly. It falls to the ground and Geralt draws his sword from the large skull.   
He wipes the blood on his breeches. 

The villagers back away from him. This doesn’t phase Geralt anymore, he is used to it. He sheates his silver sword and begins to peer around.   
The Vukodlak has made a great many victims. They lay strewn in streets, bloody and most of them dead. Geralt perks his ears to where he hears hearts beating. A young man is heavily mauled, three feet away from the dead werewolf, but he is still alive. Geralt goes over, to check if mercy is not in death. But he judges the lad savable. “Someone get him to a healer!” He barks at the villagers. No one reacts. “Now!” Geralt yells.  
Slowly a few strong men separate from the crowds. Geralt leads them to the survivors. He has to take the life of one man who has been too heavily wounded. 

His heart stops when he discovers a little girl by the man’s side. She is weeping and clutching at his shirt. “Fuck.” Geralt swears under his breath.  
He stoops down to pick the girl up. She is wounded, a large claw mark running over her shoulders. The little girl heaves an exhausted sigh and leans against the Witcher’s shoulder. This shocks Geralt a little. Usually children are uncomfortable around him. He peers at her scratches. They better not be infected.

He’ll have to bring her a temple to be checked and cured.   
Geralt retrieves his belongings from the inn and saddles Roach. All the while he keeps a close eye on the little girl.   
He lifts her onto the saddle. She looks down on him with big sad pale blue eyes. “You’ll be okay.” He rumbles, swinging into the saddle. He gives Roach his heels. The chestnut mare trotts off. 

She is not quick enough.

A second Vukodlak, much smaller than the first, jumps down on them. “Fuck!” Geralt grabs the creature around the neck. The little girl screams with fright. “Hold on tightly.” Geralt yells at him. To his luck she obeys, grabbing fists full of Roach’s mane. The mare keeps running, as though the devil is chasing her.   
Geralt forfeits his grip on the reigns. He takes the head of the Vukodlak under one arm and uses his other hand to break its neck. He throws the limp body to the ground and gathers the reigns in his hands, gently gripping the girl with the other. 

* * *

Geralt reigns Roach in when he spots the foam flying off of her flanks. The poor mare is exhausted. “I am sorry.” The Witcher says. He does not dare dismount, though, because the little girl is asleep.   
He lifts his head and tries to smell the right direction to go in. The woods smell like they always, so of flowers and trees and animals. But along that, very vague, a cooking fire, rich spices and broth. “You can almost rest.” He tells Roach. He steers her in the direction of the scent.

Half an hour later he happens upon a cottage, hidden in the woods. A warm place, a good place. He senses that, in his bones. 

* * *

You hear your horse whinney loudly and then a male voice yell something. “Idanwen!” You yell, dashing out of the cottage.   
At the end of your garden stands a chestnut horse, it’s rider trying to fend off your white steed. “Idanwen!” You yell again. The white stallion looks around to you. He trumpets and galops over. He presses his soft pink nose against your shoulder and you stroke his large head. 

The chestnut horse halts beside you too. From the saddle an ashen haired man looks down on you. In front of him sits a dusty toddler, a girl. You look up at him. “Can I help you, M’Lord?” You ask. “Not a lord. I need a place to rest. My horse is tired.” Comes the raspy reply. “I have a stable.” You answer.   
“Come, let me help you.” You reach out for the child. The man let’s you go ahead. You lift the little girl from the saddle. You notice she has a very ugly wound on her shoulder. “Stable is around the house.” You tell the man curtly. He nods and swings out of the saddle, leasing his horse by the reigns. “Leave them alone.” You tell your own horse. The huge white stallion whinnies and trotts away. 

You carry the girl inside and set her on the table. “You poor little thing.” You say. “I should bathe you first.” You brush her dusty, matted hair out of her face. “What has gotten you?” You mush, examining her shoulder.  
“She was scratched by a Vukodlak.” You startle when the man comes in. “And you just rode off with her by the looks of her. Are you that Vukodlak?” You growl. You know this accusation is false. This man does not smell like a Vukodlak. ”No, I am not.” He growls. “But she will be.” He nods at the girl. You nod. “Yes, it would seem so.” You mutter.   
“Stay with her.” You order. The man shrugs and comes over to the table. The girl slumps against him, evidently trusting him. 

You start by pumping water from your well, to warm for the girl’s bath. The man watches you go about your chore. “Do you need help?” He asks. “I only have one bucket and one kettle.” You say. “Don’t warm the water, I can do that.” He replies. “How?” You ask him. “Magic.” He replies. “Very well.” You pull the kettle from the fire and carry it to the backroom, where your tub is. The man follows you. The water bucket in one hand, the little girl on his other arm.   
“Give her here, get water from the wall in the garden.” You say, pouring the hot water in the tub. The man empties the bucket. You take the girl from his arm and the man takes the kettle. 

As soon as the man leaves her sight, the girl becomes fussy. “Such a papa’s girl.” You muss. Evidently she is starting to wake up, as she hadn’t done this the first time the man left her in your care.   
You set her in the window seat and gently undress her. Fortunately the child let’s you. You set her in the tub, after testing the temperature of the water, it is lukewarm. 

The man comes back with a bucket and a kettle full of water. It is enough for the little girl. “A little warmer.” You say, testing the temperature again. The man draws a symbol in the air and sticks his fingers into the tub, but only briefly.   
You retrieve the soap and several herbs and wash the girl, careful not to yet touch her wound. The man stands by passively. That of course won’t do. You look up at him. “Do you know what monkshood is?” You ask him. He nods in response. “Draw me a tea from the yellow monkshood and add bacopa and honey.” You instruct. The man nods again and leaves to do as you told him. 

You wash and dry the girl. Once that is done, you carry her back to the main area of your cottage. The man is waiting, the monkshood tea in a mug on the table in front of him. You set the girl on the edge of the table. “Make her drink it before it is lukewarm. I will find her something to wear.” You tell him. He nods, but still says nothing. 

You head up the stairs to find your smallest dress. 

You return to the man holding the mug for the girl. Her small hands cling to the mug and his hand and she bravely drinks the hot tea.   
“Such a good daughter you have M’Lord.” You say gently. “She is not my daughter.” He growls in reply. He gently takes the mug away and checks it. It is empty, so he puts it down. “Then what is she?” You ask.   
You sit at the table, with the dress and a small dirk, to cut the sleeves and half the skirt off of the dress. It is the best you can do for the girl.  
“A Vukodlak killed her parents. She needs a home and healer.” The man replies. “And you have found your healer.” You say. “You knew about the monks hood and bacopa.” He answers. “I am a herbalist, or as the people of the villages call me, a woods witch. But I am not a magic user.” You explain.   
You help the girl in the dress, satisfied with the fit. You sit her down on the man’s thick thigh. The girl heaves a deep sigh and curls against him. 

You gather what you need for a specialised poultice and sit at the table to prep it.

“What is your name?” You ask the man. “I am Geralt of Rivia.” He replies. “Nice to meet you, Geralt, my name is Y/N.” You say. “Hm.” He grunts. “What is the girl’s name?” You ask. Geralt shrugs. “Helpful…” You mumbled. 

Once the poultice is done, you apply it to the girl’s wound and bind it. 

“Would you like something to eat?” You ask. “Yes please.” Geralt replies. 

So you set to finishing the stew, all it needs is a few more vegetables. It boils for 30 more minutes and then you serve it.

“Thank you.” Geralt says curtly. “Any time.” You coo. You send him a sweet smile. Geralt tilts his head a little. For ammoment it seems like he will smile back, but then he starts to shovel stew into his mouth like he is starving.   
The girl becomes fussy. So you get up to take her from him. Geralt passively let’s you go ahead. You sit back down with the girl in your lap and feed her from your bowl of stew. She eats about as eagerly as Geralt does. “Poor girl.” You whisper, stroking her flaxen hair. “Can you take her in?” Geralt asks. You sigh and look down on the girl. And you know that this cursed little girl can never have a home in a city or a village. 

“Yes, I can.” You answer. Finally a bit of a smile twitches on Geralt’s lips. “Thank you.” He says curtly. “No need to thank me. It is what she needs.” You reply. Geralt responds only with a simple nod.

After dinner you put the girl to bed. In the bed you usually save for patients or travelers. 

Once you have returned to the living area, Geralt has kicked off his boots and is leaned back in his chair. “You are tired. Take my bed, sleep.” You say. Geralt’s eyes, so oddly yellow in colour, focus on you. “What of yourself?” He asks. “I’ll be fine.” You say, getting up from your chair. Geralt looks up at you. But then he shrugs, accepting your verdict.   
He heads up to bed as well.

You slip out of your dress, it is time for your nightly patrol. 

When you return, you find Geralt in your doorway. He is clad only in his breeches. “What are you?” He growls. “What do you mean?” You frown. “You are not human. You changed your skin. But you are not a monster.” His fingers brush the coin-like medallion on his chest.   
His eyes briefly run over your naked form, but swiftly go back to boring into yours. “I am not a monster, neither am I a human.” You say. Gooseflesh pimples your skin. You want to go back inside and put your dress back, the night air is cold, much colder without fur.   
“Can I come into my own home now?” You ask Geralt sharply. He steps aside, but you sense reluctance. You walk past him, brushing your shoulder against his arm. 

You put your dress on and turn back to Geralt.

“Sit down, please.” You gesture to your divan. Geralt obeys, almost doggedly. A stark contrast with only a moment before. You sit down on the other end of the divan. Geralt gives you a suspicious look.   
“What are you?” He repeats his question. “Does it matter?” You ask. “I want to know who I am leaving the girl with.” Geralt all but barks. You chuckle softly. “Rest assured, you couldn’t leave the girl in a better suitable place. One kind of Lyco taking care of another.” You cooe. “You are not a Vukodlak, though.” Geralt rumbles. “No I am not.” You shake your head. “Stop avoiding the answer.” Geralt growls.   
You can indeed no longer avoid answering. “I am a member of the Torc Madra clan. Or, as some call my people, The Gabriel Hounds.” You answer. “Never heard of them.” Geralt said. “Our people are rare and avoid interaction with anyone but the elves.” You tell him. Geralt grunts and nods, to signify he understands. 

“Tell me about the Torc Madra clan, are there other clans?” He asks. You smile softly. “There are a great many Torc Clans, but the greatest are the Torc Madra and the Torc Alta. The wolves and the boars.” You begin. Geralt nods, he follows. “We are in principle not very different from the were beasts.” You say. “We are only in more control. We revere the goddess of the moon, but she does not control us.” You look out of the window. The moon is a full circle, but stirs nothing. “But you are not … related to the were beasts?” Geralt asks. “No, the Torc clans lived here before the conjunction, like the Elves. We have common ancestors. The beasts came with the conjunction.” You answer. Geralt nods again, urging you to carry on.   
“There are many Torc Clans, but wars between the clans have considerably thinned the numbers. Now we live in packs and avoid each other, mostly.” You explain. “But you live alone.” Geralt remarks. You chuckle wryly. “I left my pack, because I was expected to lead after my father. I didn’t want this.” You reply. “Hm, shame.” Geralt grunts. 

“I saw you, in your wolf skin.” Geralt says. “Did you like it.” You ask. “It was … more like a fox.” Geralt rumbles. “It is called the Maned Wolf. Some say it is not actually a wolf, but I am glad I look like one.” You laugh softly. “I did like it.” Geralt murmurs.

You scoot a little closer. Something about Geralt’s scent changed. His pheromone patterns are more favourable now. He looks down upon you. You begin to smell something akin to lust.   
You brush your knee against Geralt’s.   
Geralt is not as subtle. He leans over and ghosts his breath over your lips. You take the hint and close your eyes. Geralt is swift to close this distance, his lips crashing firmly into yours. You raise your hand and gently cup his cheek. Geralt leans into your touch. The kiss deepens a little, but then breaks.   
Geralt pulls you into his lap. “This is .. alright with you?” He grunts. “Yes it is.” You whisper. Geralt frames your face with both his large hands and closes the distance again. His lips are demanding against yours and his tongue quickly licks into your tongue. You moan in response and Geralt grunts back at you. You tangle your hands into his ashen locks.  
Geralt groans when you draw at his hair. Your tongues battle and the kiss deepens. More moans issue from your lips. Geralt seems to try to taste them.

Below you, you feel Geralt’s cock stirr in his breeches. You draw away from his lips. Geralt huffs a little and attempts to close the distance again. You place a hand on his chest and Geralt freezes. “Oh gods, you are so warm.” You whisper. He feels like he is running a slight fever. “Yes … I know.” he mutters.   
“If we … If we are going to.. We should go to bed.” You say softly. “Together?” Geralt asks. “Yes, together. Quietly, not to wake the girl, but together.” You affirm. Geralt nods.

Slowly you rise from his lap. 

Geralt stands up as well. He puts his hands on your hips. He leans down and closes the distance once more. You curl your arms around his neck and kiss him back slowly. Geralt groans softly against your mouth.   
You back off a little, but do your best to keep the kiss going, drawing Geralt along. He gets the hint and follows, his lips keeping contact with yours. You back up carefully to the stairs. Geralt grips at your hips and his tongue searches your mouth. You do your best not to moan.

Keeping the kiss is hard, when you climb the stairs. But Geralt certainly does his best to not leave your lips unattended for too long while you guide him to your bed. 

You fall down upon your bed and draw Geralt down on you. Geralt catches himself on his hands. “I don’t want to squish you.” He murmurs before kissing you again, harshly. You feel like your lips will bruise under his, but you happily kiss back. It has been so long since you last had a man in your bed. Let alone a man like Geralt.   
He lays down beside you. “Come here.” He gestures. You oblige, straddling his lap. You look down on him. “You are so desirable.” You whisper softly. “You are too.” Geralt replies. 

You lean down and kiss him slowly. Geralt grunts a little and kisses you back, languidly and sensually. His hands grip gently at your hips. He rolls his pelvis up at yours. You do not reciprocate the motion.   
“What?” Geralt asks. “Slowly.” You murmur. Then you resume the kiss, keeping it slow. Geralt obliged this time, kissing you back in kind and keeping still. You run your hands along his shoulders. You feel scars under your fingers and decide that you will learn every detail of this man.   
You break the kiss. “You have seen many battles, have you not?” You whisper. “Hm.” Geralt grunts. “Are you a fighter, or just unlucky?” You ask. 

“I am Witcher.” Geralt answers, between two slow and fierce kisses. You lick at his lips, eliciting a deep, slow groan from his throat. “Forgive me my folly, but what does that entail?” You ask. Geralt opens his mouth to answer, but you invade with your tongue. This earns you another dark groan.   
“Mutants… made for monster hunting.” Geralt rasps, when you break away from the kiss. “Mutants … how?” You whisper. “Sharper senses, different physiology, in quite a lot of ways, actually.” He replies. “In looks too?” You ask. “All Witchers have yellow eyes. But the white hair is only me, though I was not born with it.” Geralt explains. “It is very handsome.” You whisper, before kissing him again. Geralt gently kisses you back.  
Before long the kiss deepens again and your tongue dances with Geralts. You moan in unison and Geralt’s grip on your hips tighten a little bit. 

You break away for air, panting softly.

You begin your exploration of the Witcher’s body with a scar on his jaw. Geralt groans softly upon feeling your lips and tongue on the taut skin. You ask no questions, but simply lavish him with kisses and licks. Geralt’s moans gradually grow louder and a bit huskier. You are most certainly doing it right.   
Your mouth wanders to his shoulders and then his chest and side. Geralt grunts darkly. “Oh .. hmmm fuck, you are so good at this.” He groans. “I am just going on instinct.” You reply. “Good instincts you got.” Geralt whispers. You humm softly in agreement.   
You venture down until you meet the rim of his breeches. “Will you turn around for me?” You ask, slowly moving off of him. Geralt obliges. His back is about as scarred as his front. You straddle his ass and go back to the task you set for yourself. Geralt rests his head on his arms and relaxes under your touch. Husky groans slowly issue from his lips.

Once you come to the rim of his breeches, you tug at them. Geralt wriggles his hand underneath his body and undoes the lacing of his trousers. You draw them down slowly and Geralt let’s you calmly go ahead.   
You can’t help but be rather impressed with Geralt’s firm buttocks. He’s got a few scars there, too. You chuckle to yourself and lean down to kiss and lick at them. This startles Geralt a little, but he is quick to relax again, once he’s discovered what you are doing to him.  
You trail down the back of his legs. You discover the hollow of his knees are very sensitive to your touch, making Geralt moan rather wantonly. You repeat the motions, to enjoy the sounds he makes. “Turn over again.” You whisper. Once again, Geralt heeds your request.

You try your best not to look at his cock. But it is rather hard to miss. 

Instead you lay on your stomach between his legs and lavish the scars on his thighs with kisses and licks. Geralt’s groans are hoarse and wanton. You find them very arousing. You become rather wet in response.   
“I smell you.” Geralt rumbles. This makes you more acutely aware of your arousal. “Can you blame me?” You ask softly. “Hm.” Geralt rumbled in return. 

You decide to just take the step. You gingerly lick and kiss at his ballsack. Carefully you suck one of his balls into your mouth. Geralt groans loudly. “Ah fuck.” He claws at the sheets. You suck on the other testicle as well and then kiss at the root of his cock. Moans and groans spill wantonly from Geralt’s lips.   
You lick a strip from root to head. Geralt grunts, sounding a bit desperate. You flick your tongue at the head of his cock. “Oh … fuck yes.” Geralt breathes. “Shall I?” You purr. Geralt looks you in the eye. “Need you even ask?” He growls. You chuckle.  
You bend down and take him into your mouth. Geralt’s moans grow to their peak, raspy and fervent. You smirk and him and suck wickedly on him. Geralt can’t keep still, slowly and shallowly bucking into your mouth. You don’t mind, you like your mouth fucked, if it is done carefully. 

After a while, you pull off, you don’t want Geralt to cum yet. Geralt groans at the loss. 

“My turn.” He says. 

He flips you over and you squeal in slight surprise. Geralt towers over you and leans in to kiss your greedily. You are all too happy to kiss you back. His tongue licks into your mouth and dances with yours. You whimper for him. This makes Geralt groan lustily.   
His mouth starts to swiftly wander away from yours. Onto your jaw, neck and throat. He chases your taste and scent, relishing in the flavour of your pheromones. You moan and tangle your fingers in his ashen locks. Geralt groans darkly. “You smell so good.” He murmurs. He bites at your neck and nuzzles the scent glands in your jaw. You moan quietly in response.   
He marks your neck and throat with small bruises and bitemarks. “Oh Geralt, oh gods, yes.” You moan. “Those are the right sounds.” Geralt rumbles. He comes back up to kiss you greedily. You moan and he groans. Your bodies press closely together. 

Somewhere between kisses, you take off your dress. 

Geralt ventures his mouth lower down your body. He kisses and licks wantonly at your skin, until his mouth lands between your breasts. He noses at your skin and murs lustily. He’s found another spot where your scent is concentrated. He licks at the spot and grinds his pelvis against yours. “Oh gods, Geralt.” You moan.  
Geralt’s tongue finds your left nipple. Lewdly he licks at it and then sucks the hardening nub into his mouth. You whimper and arch into his touch. Geralt smirks and uses his teeth. You moan loudly. Geralt repeats the ministration and then suckles down again. You grow slicker in response.   
Geralt switches to your right nipple, flicking his tongue over the nub until it hardens and then circling around it. He nibbles on it carefully before giving it a sharp bite. You cry out, loudly and press his face against your breast. Geralt grunts and grinds his cock against your folds. 

“I need to fuck you.” He rumbles. 

You spread your legs wider, inviting him in. “Just like this?” Geralt asks. He is a little surprised that you aren’t asking him to prep you first.   
You curl your fingers around his cock and line him up with your core. “Slowly.” You instruct him. Geralt grunts in acknowledgement and gently pushes his hips forward. You slowly forfeit your grip on his cock.   
He breaches your core in an almost tender fashion. You gasp at how much he stretches you. “Oh gods, you are big.” You moan. “Or maybe you are just tight.” Geralt grunts. You both laugh airily before Geralt dives back into another kiss.   
You hook on leg around his waist and Geralt shoves in a little more. You have to break the kiss to moan. Geralt noses into your neck and feeds another inch of his cock into you. “Yes, oh yes.” You whimper. 

Wordless, halfmute groans spill from Geralt’s lips as he bottoms out. You rake your nails over his back and cry out his name. “Oh gods.” Geralt moans. “This is so good Geralt.” You whisper, your lips almost touching his ear. “Yes, yes it is.” Geralt agrees. 

He fucks you slowly, his pelvis rolling smoothly against yours. This keeps his body close against yours. You tug at his hair and claw at his back. Your moans mingle with his groans. You feel like you are becoming one.   
Gradually his thrusts become more genuine and harder. He fucks you without rhythm, without mercy. You howl in pleasure. The way you merge with him is perfect, it is everything you have ever needed from a man, but never gotten. “Oh fuck.” Geralt swears under his breath.  
He pushes you closer and closer to your climax. Gradually all your muscles tense in his direction. The palms of your hand and the soles of your feet start to heat up and there is a tingle at the base of your spine.   
“Oh god, Geralt, I am going to cum.” You cry out. “Oh fuck yes, cum for me.” Geralt grunts. That is your undoing. You sink down into the velvet heat of your climax. Wet arousal gushes from your core. 

And Geralt continues fucking you, right through your orgasm.

You are amazed with how long Geralt lasts. Any other man you have had before would have already finished and fallen asleep at this point. But not the Witcher. He stays strong and keeps speed. You are pretty sure he fucks you into another orgasm, but you are too overwhelmed with pleasure to say for sure.   
But of course, Geralt’s climax comes eventually. “I’m … I’m cumming.” He hisses. His thrusts become quicker, but not spasmic. You hold him tightly, close against your skin, Instinctually you know that that is the right thing to do. Geralt moans deeply and leans his forehead against yours. 

Slowly he pulls out. You whine at the loss, feeling hollow without his cock crammed inside your core. “Must you do that?” You pout. Geralt chuckles softly. “Can’t keep you plugged up all night.” He lays down beside you.   
You snuggle up to him. He puts his arms around you and holds you close. “That was good.” You whisper. “That was very good.” Geralt agrees. 

“I hope we didn’t wake up the kid.” He mumbles.


End file.
